


remember this house, and the ashes it left

by kingozma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bitterness, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, Isolation, M/M, Orsino Didn't Become A Corpse Katamari And Varric Is A Bad Writer AU, Post-Break Up, Sided with Mages, Surreal, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingozma/pseuds/kingozma
Summary: hawke experiences a haunting in the aftermath of the battle of kirkwall and finds that he is so much weaker than he thought he was.[glitches can be art too!]





	remember this house, and the ashes it left

**Author's Note:**

> based off of a glitch i got immediately after finishing DA2, and my wonder at the fact that you cant leave your house in postgame unless you buy the DLC. a glitch that was foreshadowed by varric saying in his final speech that anders never left my side despite the fact that i dumped him... weird! ^_^ my hawke in this is referred to by the first name i gave him because that's just how i've been referring to him throughout my playthrough

It was late in the morning of the day after Kirkwall burned to the ground when Pizzicato Hawke awoke from a heavy, dreamless sleep in his Hightown mansion.

On his back, his eyes fluttered open quickly and suddenly, and he slowly sat up, alone in his deep red canopy bed. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about that, of course. For the past few weeks, Anders - who had lived here for years - had lost his rights to Pizzicato's bed and been sequestered to the lonely couch downstairs, because... Well. He knew what he did, and he made peace with what he did, so he didn't complain.

But... Upon further consideration, consideration he did not bring upon himself, maybe there _was_ something different. There was a profound emptiness filling the other half of the bed, one that made Pizzicato's blood run cold, but he didn't think too hard on it for too long. He simply rubbed the disorientation out of his eyes - missing a few spots, hopelessly and almost inevitably - and swung his legs to the side of the bed, his stockinged feet touching the cold floor. He stretched his shoulders to one side, his neck giving a muffled crack, and then stretched to the other side, cracking again, and... Stood up, simply resolving to go about his day.

Whatever his day was going to be, in an eerie world that only made sense to his half-awake mind.

First on his list was to head into the bathroom and clean out his mouth, wash his face and make himself presentable, at least for what he decided would be a day spent in the comfort of his own home. He found it hurt to look at himself in the mirror, so he squinted, even though it made his eyes hurt, as he reached for the cloth and the jar he kept. The jar he sleepily dabbed into as he wet the cloth with a curiously full bucket of water - maybe Bodahn had felt restless without someone to wait on in the early hours of the day - was full of a mixture of salt and finely ground-up mint leaves, and it had clearly been used before, it was about 3/4 full. That meant he didn't have to worry about filling it back up yet.

Giving his eyes a rest, Pizzicato gazed at himself with heavy, hateful eyes as he prodded and rubbed at every inch of his teeth with the salt-covered cloth, cleaning his teeth and his tongue of the previous day and night's grime - and what a lot of grime it was, being easily the longest day and night of his life.

The days and nights were about to get much longer, but he didn't need to know that yet.

He started to gag, some of the salt left on the back of his tongue - so he took a couple handfuls of water from the bucket and spat out the rest of the mixture into the basin under the mirror, gazing down at it for a moment, water dripping off his chin. He would clean it out later, he figured, wanting to give Bodahn a break. It was admittedly embarrassing letting another person clean up after him, he still wasn't fully used to it after six years. Besides, they were supposed in the process of packing up their things starting this week... Probably? His memory and logic were vague, and beginning to fall apart - so he decided to slap his hands together in his mind and hold them together rather than look too deeply into their cracks.

Rinsing and rubbing his face with another few handfuls of water, wiping the rest of the sleep from his eyes, Pizzicato simply... Wiped his face dry with another rag, and took a quick look at the bathtub. Absolutely not. Not today, at least not right now. Something about the concept of bathing felt both exhausting and... Undeserved.

But what did he do to feel this way? Did he not save the mages of Kirkwall last night? ... All the same, there was a curious loathing in his veins. He left the bathroom, nearly slipping as he crossed the balcony, past Mother's old room, and slinked downstairs.

Standing at attention, at their usual stations, were Bodahn and Sandal, which gave Pizzicato something of a fright.

"Ah-- Bodahn, good morning," Pizzicato stammered, running a hand through his hair, trying to look natural. "How go the preparations?"

"Morning, Messere Hawke. It's been nice and quiet this morning," Bodahn replied, not moving an inch from his spot. Pizzicato glanced over at Sandal, who simply met him with a typical wide-eyed smile.

"I... I see," Pizzicato said, "Good to hear. Ah - but about you and your boy, don't you mean to move out sometime soon? Why -- not that I'm kicking you out, your company and your service has been much appreciated! But, I only ask, since you two seemed so excited to--"

"There's a letter on your desk, Messere," Bodahn said, "Funny how the messengers only arrive when you're out of the house."

"Ah, I... I never left this morning, actually, I..." Pizzicato simply strained out a smile in response, starting to feel a little ill, "Nevermind. Ah - Sandal, how are you feeling this morning? Well, I hope?"

"Enchantments?"

"Right. W-well said, my boy," Pizzicato replied, voice wavering a bit as he headed the rest of the way downstairs, "Ah-- I'm not in need of any enchantments today, but perhaps I will pick up a rune or two on my way out. I'm feeling a meal out might get my head in order."

Neither Bodahn nor his son replied to that, they simply stood facing the staircase. As if waiting.

Pizzicato lingered a bit in the doorway by Bodahn, hoping he had something else to say or do, but... Nothing happened. So he nodded, pursing his lips, and deciding not to question it.

As he made his way through the hall, he found his hands and feet begin to feel more and more sluggish, time practically slowing around him - he furrowed his brows, shaking his head and touched his fingers to the shining doorknob. He remembered he hadn't changed out of his nightclothes, but - he had to admit, as the world was growing heavier on his shoulders, he didn't care! As long as he was able to get out the door, he didn't mind what people would say when they saw him. So what if the Champion of Kirkwall was outside in lounge pants and a robe? Haha-- at least he was outside at all! What a horrible chore to drag yourself out in the morning, when you've just doused the storm that set the world on fire - isn't that enough?

He opened the door, and realized, as he did every day, that maybe he should have company on this outing. He didn't particularly want any, but it felt like something he should do, is reach out and see if any of his friends were feeling up to accompanying him outside.

The aroma of salt and seawater was in the air, though that shouldn't have made sense.

Let's see, who would be up to an outing today? Varric, of course, was the first person on Pizzicato's mind, his rock, his best friend, his shelter from the storm - in whatever this storm was - and next was Fenris. Ironically, Fenris, even though he and Fenris had never gotten along very well, but in this moment, Pizzicato felt he could admit - he loved Fenris so much! He loved Fenris, he was full of love for Fenris, so much that he felt his chest would burst, and...

Anders.

Why Anders? Why would he be available? Why would Pizzicato want Anders' company right now?

... Pizzicato felt weak. He sent for those three, against all logic, and headed outside - where he stopped dead right on his porch and stared out into Kirkwall, his hand on the wall. Where could he go?

Perhaps the Hanged Man, but... No. Maybe not today. He wanted a real meal, not bar food.

So that ruled out Darktown, obviously, as well as Lowtown - and there was no way he could pester Merrill or Fenris to cook him a meal! Aveline was certainly out of the question, she would look at him with such an ashamed face if he asked her for help - but where else could he go?

Maybe he could find a place in Hightown, what with all the merchants there-- some of them had to be chefs, right? But-- was it even worth looking? It had to be, right? But what if he didn't even want to eat?! What if he didn't even want to-- to do... Anything?

... Pizzicato's hand slowly slid down the wall until it fell back to his side. The world looked like eating sand felt. Everything was grey and dusty brown, and he couldn't hear the comforting cacophony of the bustling Kirkwall. His ears were underwater and his brain was full of salt.

So he... Went back inside, closing the door behind him. Even just walking through the threshold of his estate was exhausting, he nearly slid to his feet as he leaned back against the closed door, staring out into the entry hall where Bodahn and Sandal stood, not acknowledging him.

And abruptly he realized he wasn't alone in the doorway. His eyes, wide, flicked over to his left, and standing there was--

Anders. In all black.

It took Pizzicato a moment to find his words, untangle them from the lump in his throat, and his pounding heart certainly didn't help speed things up. He felt like he was about to be sick, like he was about to start sweating, and he finally stammered out, "A-- Anders! I thought you-- I thought you left Kirkwall behind last night!"

The sight of his ex-lover smiling casually at him, in this new underwater world, was nothing short of terrifying.

"I think it would be best to focus on the task at hand," he said, voice as pleasantly soft as ever - like pleasant nails pounding into Pizzicato's ears. And he simply stood there.

"What task?" Pizzicato began to grow impatient, brows furrowing, "Anders-- I-I... I know I..." He paused a moment, biting his lip and looking away. "I know I told you we were through, but... If there is anything you need from me before you go, I will gladly help you. _What task is at hand?_"

It was weak of him, and it was embarrassing. But right now, in this world without logic, he couldn't help but feel weak about Anders in particular.

Anders didn't blink, but he responded right on time, "I think it would be best to focus on the task at hand."

... Something about this was giving Pizzicato deja vu so strong his head was hurting, he stopped trying to reason with the deranged mage that lit the fuse that set Kirkwall aflame - what reason could there be, with a man who forgot his own convictions and caused so much suffering for so many innocent mages? So instead Pizzicato began to reason with himself.

Where had he heard that phrasing before? He held his head, gritting his teeth a bit... And darkness filled his eyes.

The darkness of the Gallows, the night before, lit by frail candles. The last moment he had together with all of his friends, his brother, before the final battle against Meredith, before smuggling Orsino and his mages onto Isabela's ship, spent simply talking intimately with each other. Reassuring and comforting each other that the sun would rise again on Kirkwall. The last time Pizzicato and Anders spoke, it was on such-- shockingly good terms, despite everything that happened, despite the fact that Pizzicato could never truly forgive this betrayal against mages and against his own heart, so what was it about this that tormented him so?

A... Ah. Yes.

Checking in on Anders throughout the last crawl through the Gallows, when he had gotten injured from time to time...

"That's what you told me," Pizzicato said, eyes feeling heavy. "When I tried to help you. You didn't want me to worry about you and strain myself on your behalf after you broke my heart and caused this whole battle, so you told me..."

"I think it would be best to focus on the task at hand," said Anders, looking down at Pizzicato.

"... And you just healed yourself, and carried on. And you told me you would leave me behind, without even truly apologizing for what you did to me. To all of us."

The smile on Anders' face began to look almost pained. "I think it would be best to focus on the task at hand."

Pizzicato found that his ankles could not support the weight on his shoulders anymore. He fell to his knees not with a bang, but with a whimper, hands slowly feeling across the cold, hard floor.

This... Was life now. To be so full of misery and exhaustion that he could no longer leave his house, and to be haunted by the presence of ex-lover who broke him and all of Kirkwall. A task so harrowing that even the Champion of Kirkwall was unsure he would make it through to the other side.

Aaaand scene.


End file.
